gns.cannibalcult-第12部分

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wn　with　the　reverence　he　deserves！'
　　
　　Slumped　over　the　side　of　the　lead　coffin；　Sabat　fumbled　to　unravel　the　blanket　shroud　from　around　the　corpse's　shoulders。　He　closed　his　eyes；　didn't　want　to　see；　felt　soft　dead　flesh；　the　sponginess　of　the　severed　neck。　He　retched。　Any　moment　he　would　throw　up。
　　
　　His　hands　were　numb　with　the　cold　but　even　so　he　felt　the　faint　movement　of　that　thing　on　which　his　fingers　rested；　like　some　organism　that　breathed　faintly。　Cold　fetid　breath　that　was　a　stale　reminder　of　the　taste　in　his　own　mouth。　And　then　with　an　effort　he　was　snatching　his　hands　away；　falling　backwards；　lying　there　on　a　cold　stone　floor　gasping　for　breath。
　　
　　'You　did　well。'　Madeleine　Gaufridi　glanced　inside　the　coffin；　turned　back　to　him　with　a　smile。　'You　have　earned　a　rest。　Over　there　in　the　corner　is　a　mattress　and　some　blankets。　We　must　rest；　sleep　away　the　daytime　hours　and　be　refreshed　for　when　the　others　arrive　tonight。'
　　
　　Sabat　staggered　across　to　where　she　indicated；　saw　that　a　rough　double…bed　had　been　made　up　in　readiness　for　them。
　　
　　'Just　a　few　nights　and　it　will　be　Walpurgisnacht*　she　breathed　softly；　as　she　slipped　out　of　her　jeans　and　blouse；　leaving　on　only　her　bra　and　pants。　'We　shall　remain　here　until　then；　Sabat；　to　guard　the　most　precious　of　all　bodies　that　has　ever　lain　in　state。　Just　you　and　me。　Nobody　else。'　A　little　laugh　that　would　have　sent　icy　shivers　down　Sabat's　spine　had　not　his　body　already　been　frozen。　With　numbed　fingers　he　fumbled　with　buttons；　wondered　why　the　hell　they　couldn't　keep　their　clothes　on。
　　
　　Her　flesh　rubbed　against　his　as　they　slid　between　the　blankets。　So　cold；　or　was　it　himself？　He　couldn't　stop　thinking　about　Nevillon　and　how　she　had　thrust　her　tongue　into　that　dead　mouth；　the　same　tongue　that　was　starting　to　trace　a　frozen　path　up　his　own　neck；　her　fingers　going　where　once　he　had　willed　them。　Now　he　was　stiffening　with　revulsion。
　　
　　'Your　lover。　。。'　he　snatched　at　the　first　excuse　that　came　into　his　head；　'he　might　be　angry　if。。。　if　you　are　unfaithful。'
　　
　　'No；'　she　whispered　and　began　to　rub　him　softly。　'He　won't　because　until　Walpurgisnacht　I　am　free。　Louis　will　only　live　again　when　his　sacred　flesh　has　been　devoured。　He　will　be　reborn　into　another　male　body　and；　who　knows；　Sabat；　it　could　be　you！　Then　we　shall　be　together；　you　and　I：　Louis　Nevillon　and　Madeleine　de　Demandolx　de　la　Palud　reborn　to　live　forever！'
　　
　　Sabat　shuddered　silently　and　wondered　how　he　managed　to　bee　aroused。　He　knew　only　too　well…because　Madeleine　and　Louis　Nevillon　had　him　totally　in　their　power。　Mark　Sabat；　priest　and　exorcist；　was　dead；　finished；　Quentin　Sabat　was　in　his　place；　the　same　body　but　the　soul　was　as　evil　as　that　of　the　guillotined　corpse　which　lay　in　that　coffin；　only　a　few　yards　away　from　where　Sabat　and　Madeleine　were　joined　in　a　union　that　was　more　than　just　a　physical　copulation。
　　
　　Sabat　stirred　restlessly；　tried　to　tell　himself　that　he　had　been　in　a　fevered　nightmare；　that　he　was　back　in　his　own　London　home；　it　was　all　a　dream　and　now　it　would　evaporate　with　waking。
　　
　　But　Madeleine　Gaufridi　was　there；　wearing　that　long　black　dress　which　she　had　worn　the　evening　of　that　vile　feast。　She　appeared　to　have　been　up　for　some　time　for　the　dark　candles　on　the　altar　were　burning　steadily；　giving　offa　pungent　aroma　of　sickly　perfumed　wax。　The　lid　of　the　coffin　was　closed。
　　
　　She　saw　that　he　was　awake；　fixed　him　with　a　stare　that　was　almost　hostile。　'Get　dressed；　Sabat。　The　others　will　be　here　shortly。'
　　
　　He　nodded；　hastened　to　obey　because　he　was　cold　and　maybe　his　clothing　would　help　to　warm　his　flesh。　As　he　shrugged　himself　into　his　jacket　he　felt　the　weight　of　the　？38　in　its　holster　bumping　against　him。　He　still　had　his　gun　but　it　was　no　more　use　to　him　than　a　child's　water　pistol。
　　
　　A　trestle　table　near　the　door　had　been　laid　as　though　in　preparation　for　some　kind　of　buffet。　He　stiffened　when　he　noted　the　crockery　and　cutlery。　A　pile　of　plates　that　appeared　to　be　made　out　of　some　kind　of　black　ivory；　knives　and　forks　that　had　been　blackened。　There　was　no　sign　of　any　food。　That　was　what　worried　and　nauseated　him　most。
　　
　　'Tonight　we　celebrate　the　advent　of　Walpurgisnacht　and　ask　the　Master　to　give　life　to　Louis　Nevillon　again。'　Her　tone　was　in　the　form　of　a　recitation；　her　features　impassive。　'Ii　is　very　important　that　everything　is　done　right。'
　　
　　Sabat　licked　his　dry　cracked　lips。　A　feeling　akin　to　embarrassment　bordering　on　fear。　Fear　had　always　been　something　virtually　unknown　to　him。　Until　now。　Now　he　knew　that　he　was　powerless　to　fight　and　it　was　a　terrifying　prospect。
　　
　　'Listen！'　She　held　up　a　finger。
　　
　　Somewhere　he　heard　the　sound　of　approaching　vehicles；　engines　that　revved　when　the　wheels　stuck　in　the　squelching　mud。　ing　closer。　Louder。　Dying　away。
　　
　　A　moment's　silence　then　low　muttered　voices　and　the　slamming　of　car　doors。
　　
　　'They　are　here；'　Madeleine　Gaufridi　added；　smiling；　'Now　we　shall。。。'
　　
　　She　was　interrupted　by　a　scream　from　outside；　a　piercing　yell　of　terror　that　was　magnified　and　rendered　more　terrible　because　of　the　stillness　of　this　remote　wooded　clearing。
　　
　　And　Sabat　recognised　it　as　the　scream　of　a　child　that　was　suddenly　cut　off；　as　though　a　hand　had　been　clapped　over　its　mouth！　He　found　himself　glancing　back　towards　that　table　and　noting　again　that　there　was　no　food　on　display！
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　EIGHT
　　　
　　THE　DOOR　opened　and　people　began　to　file　in。　Andre　Schmid　was　in　the　lead；　but　was　no　longer　clad　in　those　worn；　tight…fitting　jeans　which　rolled　over　at　the　waistband。　Scarcely　recognisable　from　a　distance；　he　was　dressed　in　black　flowing　robes　that　gave　him　a　monastic　appearance；　a　cowl　that　was　flung　back　so　that　his　jowls　were　still　visible。
　　
　　However；　it　was　the　limp　form　which　he　carried　in　his　arms　which　attracted　Sabat's　attention；　hypnotised　him　with　a　feeling　of　horror。　A　child；　doubtlessly　the　one　who　had　screamed　a　few　moments　ago；　now　head　down；　with　blood　dripping　steadily　from　a　gash　across　his　forehead。
　　
　　Schmid　paused　before　the　closed　coffin；　gave　a　slight　bow；　and　laid　his　burden　stretched　out　on　the　lid。　Now　Sabat　could　see　the　unfortunate　child　clearly　in　the　circle　of　light　cast　by　the　flickering　black　candles。　It　was　a　boy；　no　more　than　seven　at　a　guess；　a　squat　limp　figure　clad　in　brown　shorts　and　a　rainbow…striped　shirt。　The　blood　was　still　flowing　from　his　head；　forming　a　pool　on　the　lead　surface。　But　there　was。。。　something　not　quite　right！
　　
　　Sabat　stiffened　as　he　suddenly　caught　a　glimpse　of　the　boy's　face。　Oh　merciful　God！　A　Grotesque；　almost　flat　features；　hideously　misshapen。　A　mongol！　Anger　and　pity　mingled　inside　Sabat。　These　bastards　needed　a　human　being　for　their　vile　cannibalistic　rites　so　they　had　procured　some　subnormal　harmless　child。　So　easy　to　lure　away。
　　
　　Sabat　clenched　bis　fists；　almost　rushed　forward　but　something　held　him　back。　A　voice。　'It's　kindness　really。　The　boy　is　better　dead　than　alive。　In　any　case　he　probably　wouldn't　live　more　than　a　few　years。　Better　that　he　serves　some　useful　purpose。'　Quentin's　voice；　condescending。
　　
　　Sabat　sighed。　It　was　true。　There　was　nothing　he　could　do　anyway。
　　
　　He　had　expected　the　usual　form　of　human　sacrifice　mon　to　such　places　as　Haiti　where　the　throat　was　slit；　the　spurting　blood　caught　in　vessels　and　drunk　by　the　worshippers　of　evil；　and　had　steeled　himself　to　witness　it。　But　it　didn't　happen　that　way。　Suddenly　everybody　was　moving　away　from　the　inert　form　on　that　awful　coffin。
　　
　　Sabat　couldn't　work　out　whether　Madeleine　or　Andre　Schmid　was　directing　operations。　The　others；　with　slow　jerky　movements　that　reminded　him　of　the　living　dead　in　Haiti；　were　removing　the　altar　cloths；　carefully　setting　those　candles　down　on　an　adjacent　shelf；　the　material　wafting　and　flickering　the　tiny　flames；　threatening　to　extinguish　them。
　　
　　It　took　several　seconds　for　the　awful　truth　to　dawn　on　Sabat。　He　had　expected　to　see　some　form　of　wooden　table　as　the　basis　for　the　altar…instead　he　saw　a　huge　old…fashioned　cast…iron　oven　of　the　Rayburn　type；　a　filthy　uncleaned　monster；　its　front　daubed　with　spilled　fat　and　what　appeared　to　be　congealed　gravy；　except　that　he　knew　it　wasn't　because　already　his　acute　sense　of　smell　had　picked　up　a　faint　stale　aroma　and　recognised　it。　The　acrid　tang　of　burned　human　flesh！
　　
　　He　felt　himself　starting　to　retch；　almost　threw　up。　He　wanted　to　turn　away；　flee　from　this　place；　leave　these　people　to　their　vile　atrocities。　But　he　knew　he　could　not；　he　was　Quentin　and　he　had　to　go　along　with　whatever　they　were　planning　to　do　this　night　in　their　build…up　to　the　climax　of　Walpurgisnacht！　He　sensed　the　evil；　was　part　of　it　himself。
　　
　　A　thin　youth　was　struggling　to　carry　an　aluminium　bucket　containing　coal　and　some　chunks　of　wood。　Another　was　busy　crumpling　up　sheets　of　newspaper；　stuffing　them　in　through　the　small　door　of　the　firebox。　Now　there　was　a　sudden　sense　of　urgency；　a　rattling　of　a　matchbox；　a　scraping　and　a　smell　of　sulphur。
　　
　　Sabat　heard　the　roar　of　flames；　the　crackling　of　kindling